GrayShadow Dreams
by celinae
Summary: A retelling of Book XI, in the eyes of one of Odysseus's men. Perimedes had always known of his own tenuous hold on life, but he had never been more strongly reminded of it on that night.


**Disclaimer: **The Odyssey isn't mine, and neither is Fitzgerald's translation of it (which I borrowed liberally of, I apologize!), but this story damn well is, and so will be the awesome grade I get in English class that I get for it. XD

**A/N:** Sorry to disappoint any readers who were expecting another anime fanfic; I'm pretty busy right now (as you can see by the fact that this was homework), and barely have time to develop plotbunnies and chase my Muses.

Anyway, hopefully you'll like this, especially my attempts at Homer's style of poetry. If you have any suggestions, please tell me them, also! It's a first draft, and I need to work on it a little before I hand it in, so any advice is appreciated!

XXX

**Gray-Shadow Dreams**  
_by celinae_

XXX

The vision would always remain with him, even as Zeus's thunder rove the ship in two, as his breath was stolen by bitter seawater. So vividly was it etched in his memory, that whenever he closed his eyes, Perimedes saw the pit at the border of the Underworld, clouded with murky-colored shades that brightened as they took Odysseus's offerings of blood, then faded back into the mist.

Perimedes had always known of his own tenuous hold on life, but he had never been more strongly reminded of it on that night, as he held the sheep whose black blood seeped into the earth. The sounds of the shades' unearthly screaming, the rustle of souls as they passed through each other in the glen, filled him with such terror, and Perimedes wondered vainly if he were to die that night. The familiar motions of offering meat, in this case, raw mutton, to the gods, did nothing to calm him, but he infused the ritual with as much as he could of his desire and hopes to stay alive.

When it was finished, and the charred remains lay smoking on the glowing fire, Perimedes turned his attention back to the glen, where Odysseus was now listening to the shades as they greeted him and told him their stories. Perimedes was amazed, remembering the tales that his mother had told him of many who now stood before Odysseus, drooping to drink blood from the muddy hole. He watched the shades cluster around his lord, turning the air a murky, misty gray, and looking into the distance, could not tell the end of a shade from another as they drifted closer.

Except one, one that lingered near him, whose thin, womanly figure struck a chord of remembrance within Perimedes. The air was suddenly cold and harsh in his throat, he swallowed awkwardly, not believing his eyes…

For, his wife… his wife, Ikalydia, who was with child when he went to fight in the Trojan War, wavered before him. He could not think, nor believe that she had died already, for she had been with child when he left, and yet now? Even as a shade he saw that her stomach was flat, and that she didn't seem much older than when he had last seen her. But… that she had died…

Perimedes then noticed the child that hid behind her skirt, and grief poured over him, burning and scalding his eyes with tears. He had, fearfully, never allowed himself to think of his child, but now the possibilities that no longer existed presented themselves, and he could not hold back. And Ikalydia… his sweet, gentle wife, reached out to touch his face, though her clammy gray fingers felt little more than a musty breeze. He would never be able to hold her again…

Perimedes reached up to the small dagger tied to his belt, and sliced the pad of a fingertip, wincing as the blade broke skin. With tears still wet on his face, he offered his bleeding hand upwards, towards Ikalydia, who needed no prompt to drink from it.

"Perimedes," her shade of a voice then whispered, and he smiled sadly at the memories it evoked. The words were thick and difficult from pain, but finally he spoke them.

"Why are you dead, Ikalydia, dearest heart of my soul?

What awful misfortune leads you here to stand before me,

What deadly, god-sent deed struck you down while I was gone?

Speak, relieve me of this bitter torture, let me know to what folly

I have lost those who matter to me more than honor or fealty."

The shade of Ikalydia replied,

"Not even half a year passed since you left before I gave birth to Perimylos,

A beautiful, darling boy, worthy of being your son,

Whose bravery, curiosity, and strength were near identical to his father's.

But it was hard to survive when the man of our home was gone,

And supporting a growing babe soon became difficult,

When a joy-seeking, evil-minded suitor of Penelope shot our dwindling flock.

That year, Perimylos and I grew sick with hunger,

And despite help from our neighbors, and other wives of Odysseus's crew,

We both died, Perimylos four when Persephone claimed him, and

Myself following soon after, from grief of a lost son and absent husband.

But why are you here, dear Perimedes, that you should ask of news of home,

When you should have long been there and thus known of all I say?"

Perimedes, clenching his bloody hand into a fist, replied,

"By the mistakes of my prideful captain, Odysseus, who angered Poseidon,

And now is forced to wander the ocean by the Earthshaker's unforgiving rage,

His unwilling crew sharing their captain's fate by only sailing with him."

Perimedes could not say anymore, looking at his dear, faded Ikalydia, and the shadow of their child, who still hid behind her knees. Before long, Odysseus had finished talking with the shades, and returned back to the ship, and Perimedes looked back at the gray, misty glen, wondering when it would be the god's wish to send him there.

It was a thought that lingered with him, that made him desperate to stay alive on the island, and had made him one of Eurylochus's greatest supporters among the crew. Perimedes could not—would not starve to death on a lush paradise leagues away from Ithaka, when he had yet a few years to live. He so desperately wanted to go back to his home, to mourn his wife and son properly, to spend a year or so in the place of his birth and childhood before departing life.

"And not die like this," thought Perimedes, as Zeus's thunderbolt rove the ship into two, his breath disappearing into the winedark sea, bitter salt rushing into his mouth and choking him. As he flailing to propel himself upward, he felt the strong, god-sent current drive him further into the sea's depths. He felt pain in his lungs, his head, his heart, his eyes filling with mist and gray and shadow that dripped out into the sea.

Bitterly, Perimedes thought of the gods who pulled him along like a puppet, and of all the dreams of shades that had brought him to clutch too tightly at life, and in the end cost him it.


End file.
